come_sailaway | pleased to meet you

Entry tags:

pleased to meet you

CW: murder

[it is the morning of the 17th when the usual morning announcement is replaced with the sort of tentative, nervous tone that Friday takes on immediately before something insane happens.]

Good morning, passengers! It's, um... Well, I sure hope everyone had an interesting time on their shore excursion! The Captain sure did! In fact, he had such a good time, he's asked me to inform you all that, tonight, he's going to be hosting his usual captain's formal in the main dining room, but with a twist! This time, it's going to be a, um... victory party! For Natsuno! Because he won! [small laugh] And also to celebrate the opening of a new shop on the Promenade! Gosh, and that really is something to celebrate; I haven't seen that happen since he--

[LOUD STATIC NOISES]

-- Yes, well! The dress code will be cruise formal; everyone can find a new set of clothes in their cabin to celebrate the occasion! I-- Oh, right, we'll see you all tonight! 8PM sharp!

[the connection cuts off. today, for the first time that anyone can remember, Friday can't be found in the atrium. or any other room. smoke 'em if you got 'em.

at 8PM sharp, the door to the dining room swings open. it is mostly empty: the only tables left are a dozen or so under the main chandelier. there are name cards at each table setting, written in Friday's neat script; the seatings seem mostly random, except for everyone who was on the island, who will find themselves at a table with their killer and/or victim(s). except Natsuno, of course, whose name is displayed proudly at the head table, next to an unnamed place. once they are inside, all of them find themselves under the same sort of compulsion that they felt during the muster drill, and their legs will stop working until they have gone to their assigned seats.

Friday enters the room first, dressed up nicely, but with hunched shoulders and her hands clasped firmly in front of her. the door shuts behind her. she says nothing, and acknowledges no one, not even Natsuno, as she takes her spot behind the chair.

a few fashionable minutes pass. it starts as smoke pouring out from under the door, moving towards the table as it slowly solidifies into the form of... a rather normal-looking man. he sits, cross-legged, in the chair that Friday pulls out for him. he looks over the assembled crowd, visibly considering something... there is a flash of silver in the light, and the knife he'd had in his sleeve is across Friday's throat quicker than she can react, and she falls bonelessly to the ground, a spray of arterial blood across the table setting.]

There, perfect.

[he looks out at them again. and he smiles. the knife is placed back in his sleeve, and he holds his hands out, palms up.]

Well. Here's your chance. [he waves a hand lazily, and the compulsion keeping them seated fades like pins and needles.] Try not to embarrass yourselves.

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[yeah it's unlocked the night literally cannot get better than this]

[Natsuno's been side-eying the whole thing in case Clarke gets herself murdered or mutilated, but didn't interfere because he wanted to see what happens if she stabs him.

He wasn't expecting it to work, but that uh. Sure is something.

But the door's unlocked and they're done here, so he wordlessly slides off his chair and leaves.

Not before he snaps he a picture of the that weird head wound. Will taking picture even work? The fuck is with that eldritch horror shit.]

( no buddy, we don't actually have time for a proper photoshoot — simultaneously, if it develops, please send it to her — there's really no telling when this script will flip from the captain's best night ever into murder island round two just because his cosmic amygdala got tickles the wrong way. we gotta move.

somewhere between the victors table and the doors, clarke's reaching back to grab natsuno's hand and putting a pull behind their attempt to flee. others are flocking towards the suddenly unlocked main doors, while a few others stay behind to continue bloodshed or chat up the man-like figure with a gaping wound in his temple. but not the two of them!

out the doors, down the hall, maybe even down a staircase or two until clarke finally feels distant enough from the ballroom and safe enough to pause. finally release natsuno's fingers, irreverent to how much nervous sweat she's left coating his palm, and slumping against the nearest wall. fuck.

fuck. )

What did I just do?

[Oh, now she wants to bail.

Natsuno slips the phone back into his pocket (provided it didn't or anything, of course) and lets himself be pulled by the hand. He's not gonna say anything about her sweaty palm, but discreetly wipes his hand on this pants when she's not looking. Ew.]

Volunteered to be dissected alive?

[He's still pissed about it! But then his expression flattens entirely, all annoyance gone. Can you recognize this brand of emotionlessness by now, Clarke? That's the lack of expression that says, I'm so freaked out right now.]

I don't know. [Freaking human shaped abyss. What the actual fuck.] Did you touch it? He said it's harmful -

Technically it's called vivisection.

( is that helping? knowing the technical terms? it feels like it's helping a lot.

but when she looks down at her hands to inspect for damage, they're maybe shaking a little. )

I don't think I touched it. I'm not — ( dying? again? ) — it doesn't hurt.

( know what kinda stings? the slowly purpling boot print just visible in the neckline cut of her party dress. if she tongues at her split lip, that smarts too, and it's really a good thing there's no chance of smiling right now, lest it re-open and start bleeding afresh. mental inventory of physical complaints completed, she's finally looking at natsuno's face again — notes that empty, indescribable panic that so sharply juxtaposes her ruddy cheeked, sweaty nervous response — and belatedly feels bad. the shit she drags this boy into... )

[Oh ok it's called "vivisection" that's SUPER HELPFUL NOW -

Ugh, fine. Clarke's scuffed a little, but at least she's not melting or rotting or whatever the captain's insides are supposed to do to normal people.]

He must've let you hit him. To make of fun of you.

[That's what he got from listening in. Smug bastard, does what he does because he's bored, plays with the crackers like a toddler with cosmic powers.

With seemingly no context, Natsuno adds:]

He gets annoyed when poison doesn't work, though.

( okay maybe just helping a little, but she's helping... ! just like natsuno's helping, pointing out that under the spectacle of her admirable attempt, it'd been utterly and humiliatingly pointless. )

I don't know if it was to make fun of me, but it was... definitely to prove a point. It doesn't matter if he's smoke or solid, we can't hurt him. He's absolutely not a human, even if maybe he started that way...

( poison, though? )

Poison specifically? Or is this just a case of getting mad when things don't go the exact way he wants them to?

[He shrugs.] Friday said poison. When she picked me up... I asked why my collar had an insulting writing. Apparently he was pissed he couldn't poison me to death.

[Oh yeah Natsuno's also immune to poison. Just casually bringing that up.]

( maybe clarke hadn't parsed out exactly what was in the collars, but she'd watched friday choke and gag on screen and poison absolutely fit. and the more she thinks about it, if natsuno can literally pull moon spears out of his body and keep fighting, it makes a lot of sense that poison doesn't do a damn thing for him. )

I thought he was just trying to be funny. Or maybe marked you as the winner from the beginning. But I didn't —

( didn't what, clarke? consider all avenues in front of you? dig a little deeper? classic mistake. )

I mean, we knew he doesn't like it when things don't go as planned ...what was in yours, then?

A bomb.

[Still casually deadpan here. That's not the first time Natsuno dealt with explosives and it's much quicker than death by poison. You barely feel it before everything blacks out.

If anything, it only makes him regret not removing the collar. Taking Ebalon down with him would've been better.]

Maybe he's just pissed a drawn out death wouldn't have worked.

Oh.

( and adding to the reason clarke griffin hates herself: her first thought is we could use that.

but then something tightens in her face. the veneer of composure is cracking a little, and natsuno gets not only a front row seat to her vicious, all too human thirst for blood, but also to the way her mind works — a thought one moment, self loathing the next.

using that means using him and she... doesn't... want to. they're not there yet, are they? )

...no, that tracks. If he's after suffering, nothing immediate would be as satisfying.

[Her expression shift from focused, vicious hunger to guilt, then struggle to return to normal. He understands she finds the information useful - Natsuno wouldn't have shared it if he didn't think so, too - but doesn't quite know what to make of that intense self loathing.

Honestly, if Clarke simply asks if they can use that, he'll probably agree. Natsuno objects to is being manipulated and having the decision made for him, but the idea of using that? It's fine. He's still a monster, no matter what they say, and his life matters much less.]

...yeah. And we just keep giving him what he wants.

[Himself included. He already regrets letting his anger drive him into something so childish and meaningless as flipping a table. Already regrets having emotions that aren't channeled into anything useful.

Attempting to squash those pesky feelings, he opens the captain's photo on his phone and - well.]

...I don't know what to say to that. [He shows it to Clarke. The freakish head wound is visible, but the captain is all warped like a creepypasta.]

( a hum, a slight nod. they really do just keep feeding the beast. even when trying their best, he always seems to come out on top — like playing a perpetual game of blackjack, and the house always wins.

they're going to have to agree to disagree with his assessment of himself, though — monsters don't take the high road when it'd have been so much easier to kill everyone on the island and be done with it. monsters don't come back from outings like that tired and somehow sadder than when they'd left. monsters certainly didn't make friends, then hold them when they died for no purpose other than to offer comfort.

so maybe down the line they'll use his poison resistance. but she's allowed to feel bad about using a friend — willingly or otherwise. it never feels good.

and oh, hey, a picture! one that's going to burn into her retinas and absolutely haunt every waking moment before assaulting her every time she closes her eyes. yikes, that's — )

It was hard to look at in person too, but that's definitely more distorted.

( does she even have to ask him to send things to her anymore? it feels like it's just implied. )

...you know, he said everything here's just more fun to call "magic". And that it's only science if it's boring but — maybe that's all it really is. Can you think of anything off the top of your head that would corrupt technology and film like that, just based on exposure?

Edited 2022-05-20 16:12 (UTC)

[You know it's already on her phone.

He's quiet for a few moments, trying to think about what can distort a photo like this, but eventually shakes his head.]

Waves? Weird lenses? They don't exactly cover all-powerful sadists in school.

[Is this new information worth coming back to the shil? Natsuno knows that rationally, everything is better than staring idly at the unchanging sky and ocean from a lifeboat, but it sure is hard to feel it right now.]

( it's not... not worth coming back to the ship for, right? if it ends up being enough to get him to stay on board instead of pushing back out to the surf remains to be seen. )

Hm. Light waves, maybe. The hole in his head was so dark it almost hurt to look at, like... if vantablack and a black hole mixed together. That could make an optical illusion, but...

( like that? clarke's taking natsuno's phone if he'll let her, and holding it closer to her face even as if proximity promised answers. )

Or maybe some sort of radiation. ( belatedly wishes she'd discarded the captain's warning and just stuck her hand in the hole, just to know for sure.

squint squint squint — worst case, it's just actual magic, right? but like a dog with a bone, the revelation that magic might just be fancy science her world hadn't discovered yet is one clarke's ready to grab and run with until she inevitably hits a wall.

...tomorrow. grab and run with tomorrow, because right now her eyes are twinging and she finally has to stop staring. give him back his phone and rub the palm of her hand into her eyes. )

It's giving me a headache.

( code for: damn i'm tired suddenly. )

Or he distorts pictures on purpose because he thinks it's funny.

[She looks like he's feeling right now. Natsuno considers to just call it a night and head off to waste time somewhere, but -

Huh. He doesn't feel like being completely alone. There's another pause to ponder at this weird development.]

Well, getting drunk to forget isn't an option. [...] I'm going to the arcade.

[Translation: wanna join me?]

( weirdly, blessedly, that translation isn't even that necessary. nor is the polite secondary questions that ought to spring to mind — can i come with you? want any company? mind if i tag along?

rightly or wrongly, it's all just assumed. and despite doubting any life changing revelations about their situation were going to be found among racing games and pinball, clarke doesn't immediately feel the need to beg off and attempt being productive. )

Oh. I haven't been since our first week here.

( translation: sure, lead the way. )

It works if you want to kill time.

[Especially when you don't really need to sleep. Natsuno prefers to wander the ship in the wee hours, when people are less likely to bother him when he wants to brood.

Playback is quiet save for the ghostly laughter. Natsuno looks around and heads toward one of the racing games. The shooting and fighting games seem less appealing, for some reason...]

Did you have stuff like that back home?

( nothing to do with shooting or fighting had ever really been a game for her. maybe the closest they could compare was target practice or a sparring match, but even those held the overarching implication that these were skills necessary to keep them alive in the future.

clarke would absolutely play a shooting game right now. imagine every single target had that same smug smile that the captain had when she'd dug the crackers into the abyss behind his skull, only this time she'd gotten a satisfactory spray of blood and large neon letters announcing her victorious. but follows natsuno over to a pair of racing games with bright green motorcycles on platforms in front of the screens. )

We had chess — ( with bottle caps and twisted bits of metal replacing the actual, ancient pieces ) — and soccer — ( balls usually patched with layers of clothes, and wrapped in twine ) — but never anything that looked this... new.

( ...fun? the games don't require quarters, just for them to straddle the bikes and press the start button. it's enticing. )

What about you? Small town have anything like this?

It was a tiny village. And no. The small town was where you had to go if you wanted an arcade.

[Sometimes he’d take the bus to Mizobe with Tohru and Tamotsu. Natsuno would make snide comments about how pathetic it is, they’d laugh it off and deep down, he was actually having fun…

It’s not a fond memory anymore. He can’t find comfort in it, only grief and bitterness. Yet he can’t stop thinking about it as they watch the how to play preview of the game.]

People had games at home, though. Nothing with a big setup, obviously, but you could still play.

[He says people like he doesn’t mean Tohru. He loved video games so much they even thought he was skipping school to play a new game, that he was lethargic because he was up all night playing and not because he was dying…

This distraction isn’t working like he thought.]

( between reckless stabbing missions, clarke's tried her best to be hyper-fixated on any and every slip of natsuno's façade. because that's friendship — the gentle suffocation of concern pressing further and further until there's finally a crack in the veneer that can be used as a foothold, and she can finally help. it's honestly super exhausting being her friend if you're trying to hide something and clarke's got nothing better to do than silently puppy-dog for emotional scraps.

she's giving him sidelong glances as he talks sparingly about his home world. nice, pleasant, and normal things about his home world for a change, not just the presence of the undead and traumatizing fallout. and at the tail end of the introductory video (that she'd payed minimal attention to), pries further — )

That's cool. Do you have a favorite game?

[It's a simple question, and he needs a distraction, yet it's still hard to drag up normal, human memories.]

If it's just me playing, I guess [insert the Legend of Zelda equivalent here.] I liked the puzzles. But for two players...

[He shrugs.]

I don't really care as long as the company's fine.

( as long as the company's fine, he says, and also references (insert the legend of zelda equivalent here again) for it's puzzles. and clarke's about to offer to play chess with him — or teach him chess, because isn't that the ultimate stratagem puzzle game?

but then a tinny, console voice announces game start! and big, neon numbers flash across the screens in front of them. 3... 2... 1...

and all of a sudden, they're playing. clarke's scrabbling for her handlebars, maybe even lightly swearing under her breath because what was supposed to be the go button? she's driven cars before, and it doesn't take long to figure out the accelerator is beneath her right foot, break beneath her left. but god damn the steering here is inaccurate and she almost immediately wipes out against a wall.

struggles to make it past 7th place, accidentally discharges all her attack moves without anyone in her sights to actually hit. kicks to the side randomly, causing her to lose momentum and speed. and once her focus is entirely on (losing) the racing game, her mouth becomes unhinged in a torrent of teenaged competitiveness. )

Oh my — god! No!

Why am I doing donuts? I'm not even touching the gas!

I'm not — driving an actual rover is so much easier than this. Natsuno — help?

It's not supposed to be realistic, you know.

[Is that a smirk? Surely not, Natsuno never smiles. He's a little rusty, but muscle memory soon kicks into gear - and it's not like the competition is challenging...]

You're leaning too much. You don't need to throw yourself to the side. And here - if you twist the handle twice, you get a speed boost.

[He lets his rider fall back alongside hers... before his rider smacks with a sword and shoots forward with the aftermentioned speed boost.

He's DEFINITELY smirking.]

( that better not be a smirk. that better not be a smirk, natsuno, this is mortifying! she'd asked for help, and momentarily felt a sense of relief when his avatar appeared alongside hers, only to be smacked with a sword??? and left in the pixelated dust. )

Did you just —

( no, nevermind, sportsmanship is obviously a thing of the past. clarke's giving up on winning in the game and sticking out her very real, not-video game graphic leg to the side and pointedly shoving the plastic bike natsuno's perched upon with the heel of her shoe.

but thanks for the tip, she's immediately trying the double handle twist, and accelerating right off the track and into some water. )

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Cw: slight suicidal ideation

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